Healing Touch: Play Doctor, Book 2 (9 page)

“Complex.” She shook her head.

Then she seriously considered it for a nanosecond.

She’d never been somewhere proper. This event would surpass her experience, even if the dry chicken didn’t meet his high standards. What fork should she use? What would she wear? Surely, her sundresses wouldn’t be formal enough, especially not paired with the old lady sweater she used to camouflage the fact that she’d never owned a strapless bra either. Going without certainly didn’t seem classy enough for his date. “Luke, I really appreciate the invitation. If I could, I’d love to. It’s just not possible.”

“Okay, Brielle, I understand. I guess I’ll see you Saturday then.” Disappointment reverberated in his voice.

She could relate. Suddenly, she felt like Cinderella longing to attend the ball. Except she already knew that’s where her prince would be. In his world. A million miles from hers. And he deserved a princess on his arm.

“Right.” A week had never seemed so long.

“Will you call me before then?” He seemed uncertain for the first time.

Damn, she was screwing this all up. “I didn’t want to bother you with my drama.”

“Brielle.” The steel in his tone melted almost instantly with the hiss of air he exhaled. “I’m not your ex. Or your father. I’m interested in you. All of you. If you want to call and talk about nothing, that’s great. If you need to talk about something, I’d be honored if you picked me to listen.”

“You’re going to be sorry you said that at two in the morning.” She dropped her head to her forearm on her desk, cradling the phone between her neck and ear.

“Having trouble sleeping?” His concern caressed her through the phone.

“I can fall asleep. I just can’t stay that way.” She lowered her voice so no one would overhear her weakness. “Nightmares. But I’ve been using the technique you taught me to calm myself afterward. It works. Most times I can squeeze in a nap before my alarm goes off.”

“Damn, Brielle.” He muttered something she couldn’t understand. “You shouldn’t have to go through that alone. You have my number. Use it. Let me help.”

“We’ll see.” She didn’t plan to drag him through her muck.

“Holy crap, you’re stubborn.” He laughed softly. “What does it say about me that I like that?”

“Someone once told me that being normal means being messed up.” She grinned.

“Very true. Wise man.” He groaned. “Sorry, Brielle. I have to go. My admin is shooting me a death-ray glare for being late to this meeting.”

“Of course. And it’s not like you can pretend to be oblivious with all that glass.” His crystal cavern probably bustled with activity today. She should have realized how busy he was. Taking up his time in the middle of the day… Well, he’d called her, hadn’t he? “Have a good day. Thanks again for the flowers.”

“My pleasure. Truly.” He sighed. “Saturday is a long time from now, isn’t it?”

“An eternity.”

“Call me?” Papers shuffled in the background.

“Maybe.” She couldn’t help but smile at his exasperated growl.

“Complex woman,” he moaned. “Later.”

“Get back to work, Luke. You’re late, remember?” She hung up to the sound of his laughter.

And every time she looked at his flowers, she smiled right back.

Chapter Six

Brielle wondered how long it would be before one of her neighbors complained about her screaming in the middle of the night. She clutched her chest, willing the pounding of her heart to steady some. “I’m okay. I’m safe here. I’m okay.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as she repeated the mantra. It seemed that each night she recovered faster from the terrifying visions that haunted her dreams. A mental picture of Luke, holding her hand and promising to keep her safe, didn’t hurt.

Talking to him earlier had only made her craving for him stronger. The taste hadn’t staved off her hunger. Before she could second-guess herself, she jammed her hand beneath her pillow and retrieved his card—a bit worse for wear since she’d slept on it a few times.

After lunging for her phone, she typed in the digits she’d pretty much memorized anyway. He answered on the first ring, and barely into that, spurring her to assume maybe it was an automated message service instead of his personal line.
Damn.

“Shit. Are you pissed? I didn’t think you’d be able to see me.”

“Luke?” She canted her head, trying to make sense of his rambling with the dregs of panic still settling around her.

“Yeah. It’s me, sweetheart,” he crooned. “Are you all right?”

“I think so. Just the usual after-midnight bullshit. I wanted to hear your voice again. To chase away the gloom.” Haziness began to dissipate. “What were you talking about?”

“Look out your window.” He sounded funny. A little nervous.

She crawled from bed and tugged on the edge of the purple botanical sheers she’d made from bargain-bin fabric. They’d come out pretty damn nice, if she said so herself.

After scanning the area below her third-story window, she said, “I don’t see anything.”

“By the oak tree.” A small glimmer caught her attention.

“Is that you?” She gasped. “And is that a lighter?”

“Yep and no, I don’t smoke. It’s a simulation app on my smartphone. I downloaded it the time Kurt and I saw Carrie Underwood in concert.”

“Are you joking?” It was probably best he couldn’t see her expression.

“Nope.” He chuckled. “What? She’s hot and there were tons of pretty girls there. Besides, I like lots of different kinds of music.”

“Me too.” Brielle frowned. “But the only concert I’ve been to so far was the free show the university orchestra gave on the lawn of city hall for Memorial Day.”

“Hey, I was there too. I enjoyed Brahms’ “Symphony No. 1” the most.”

“Me too again. Although the
Star Wars
theme was a close second.” She giggled.

“I knew you had good taste.” He grunted. “I wish I’d met you that night.”

“I wasn’t ready, Luke.” A grimace reminded her that this hadn’t begun as a social call. “Hell, I might not be now. I’m definitely not a good bet. So…why are you staked out?”

A long pause ensued, spawning some reservations on her part. If she’d only met him at VegVana she’d probably be freaking out to find him lingering this time of night. But now she worried she might have become the doctor’s pity case. Worse, what if he had been thinking of a way to tell her they really lived in separate worlds after the whole award-ceremony rejection?

“I seem to be experiencing some insomnia of my own and thought I’d go for a ride. I guess I just sort of ended up here.”

“I’m not sure if that’s sweet or kind of stalkerish.” She ran her fingers over the perfect seam of her curtains. Gooey insides proclaimed it adorable, despite her false protest. What if she could help his mind rest too?

“Maybe a little of both,” he acknowledged.

“Probably so.” She couldn’t believe how quickly he’d distracted her from the gnawing terror she’d broken free from minutes ago. Usually it was an hour before she stopped shaking so hard her teeth clicked together.

“Are you going to invite me up? Give me a tour?” He sounded so hopeful she couldn’t bear to disappoint him.

“That should take about two-point-three-seven seconds. This isn’t exactly an Italian villa, you know?” She tore around the apartment, ensuring her underwear had all been stuffed completely in the hamper, tossing her half-full glass of water into the sink and fluffing her tangled sheets until they didn’t look as though she’d been wrestling demons in her sleep.

“I’m not a snob, Brielle,” he reminded her. “I don’t give a shit how fancy your apartment is or isn’t. As long as you’re there, that’s what counts.”

“Good thing.” She couldn’t believe she was about to do this. “It’s on the third floor, no elevator. Unit 317.”

“Don’t you have to buzz me in or something?” he wondered.

“Nope. None of that high tech stuff here.” When she reached the door, she slid the chain off the rickety lock. “Not much reason anyway. Most of the residents do all right, but they’re not dripping diamonds.”

“I wish you had a dog, at least. A big one. With a mean bark.” Air puffed between his phrases. He must have taken the stairs two at a time because he reached her far more quickly than she could have made the journey.

Smart on his part, since she’d already begun to reconsider.

Shaky in the aftermath of one of her episodes, she’d have no defenses against his charm. No way to prevent him from running rampant through her private retreat or tending the sprouts of her affection, which grew for him. Suddenly she wished she had a deadbolt for her heart.

“Brielle?” He rapped softly on the door, nudging it open. Broad shoulders encased in a trendy gray coat filled the frame. Her gaze wandered to his chest, where a faded T-shirt with
Elembreth University
printed in a navy arch hugged his pecs.

“Welcome.” She spread her arms, gesturing to her home. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” The sneaky bastard took the opening to insinuate himself into her embrace. He bent down and enfolded her in his arms.

Their hug went on and on, each of them basking in the heat and comfort provided by the other. Luke’s protective grasp squeezed more of the awfulness of her nightmares from her mind, replacing it with something that still ached, but in a much better way.

Roving hands massaged her back, dissolving the knots there.

“You’re trembling, Brielle,” he whispered in her ear, kissing her temple as he retreated. “Are you cold?”

“In here?” She shook her head. Ceiling fans and open windows made it almost bearable. Certainly not chilly.

“Adrenaline will do that.” He appraised the dark circles beneath her eyes. “You sounded so scared when you called. I wish I had come up and knocked when I first got here. Or, hell, I should have asked you to dinner tonight. Maybe I could have stayed.”

“Presumptuous much?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, now that you mention it, that could have been fun too.” He rubbed against her as if the pressure of not being touched was almost too much to bear. “What I meant is maybe I could have coached you on some methods for shaping the content of your dreams to avoid getting so frightened.”

“Is that really possible?” If she could master a technique like that…
everything
could be different.

“For some people.” He nodded. “Becca and Kurt uncovered proof during their Dream Machine experiments. They need more data, more testing and more studies to pass academic muster. Still, it seems that certain dreams are expressions of subconscious desires. They stay pure and candid, almost like REM sleep acts as a truth serum. Kurt used Becca as his primary subject to support that body of work.”

“I think I’m still with you.” Brielle adored how animated he became when discussing his job. She wished she had something to be that passionate about.

“But the kind of dreams that happen to a person, as if they’re watching themselves star in a movie, they’re a little different. Kurt and Becca hypothesized that humans are hardwired to run a variety of plausible scenarios to determine possible outcomes in difficult situations. Sort of like the best simulator in the world. They also think that if an event is traumatic enough, the process can break and get stuck on one particular event. Maybe because the person can’t find an acceptable solution. Or maybe something to do with the dreamer waking up before the scenario is finished, in the case of something horrifying.”

“You’re saying dreams are a way for someone to decide what to do in real life?” She scratched her chin, imagining the choose-your-own-adventure books she’d loved to check out of the school’s library to distract her from the world beyond her closet.

“In complex situations, yes, I believe they could be. Or when the nightmare event is historic, I think dreams could be a person’s mind trying to see a way to have done it differently. Some kind of visual regret.” He stroked her hair. “So if you’re having the sort of dreams where you’re stuck in a rut, the same things happening night after night, we could concentrate on changing the outcome.”

“Wow. I love it when you get all nerdy.” She patted his cheek. It was that or burst into tears. There could be a way to end this madness?

Unsure of whether it was her relapse or his presence that spurred her wash of frailty, she allowed herself to lean on him for a few rare seconds. When she stiffened her arms and shoved off his chest, breaking their bond, he didn’t try to trap her close. Although he could have, with one hand tied behind his back.

“When you’re ready, just ask,” he whispered, allowing her to put some space between them.

“So. Yeah.” Nibbling her lip seemed to draw his attention. “This is my combo kitchen and living room. Nothing special.”

“Except that you live here. That’s a huge bonus, as far as I’m concerned.” He ambled toward her pile of sheet music—everything from the Beatles to old church songbooks—collected from flea markets she’d scoured this spring and summer. Maybe someday she could add a piano and teach herself to play it. Next he scanned the milk crates she’d stacked into an artful display. Odds and ends littered the shelves in between them.

The last sale she’d gone to, when the university students moved out for the semester off, had yielded a couple of self-help books she’d splurged on but hadn’t worked up the guts to crack open yet. Luke’s fingers traced the bindings, stopping on one in particular. It was called
Healing Touches
. “Not to brag, but Kurt and I conducted some studies that appear as documentation in this one.”